Lost track of the moonlight.
Refracted off departing eyes,
I tossed and turned in glowing dreams,
sensing the staged drama
and knowing its ending.
Lost track of the timing
as an alarm forced slumber,
in siren tones ignored in gloom,
washed over in dull grey
ever magnified by an absence.
Lost track of you
When I called it my reason.
Found comfort in razor cave art
until each image echoed;
waves of sound bearing your name.
( ❤ Mitch)
The Works of Mitch Worden 